


A Cry in the Dark

by Skywise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skywise/pseuds/Skywise
Summary: Sirius lives in Hell until she hears his cry in the dark





	A Cry in the Dark

I don’t own Harry Potter – I wouldn’t be writing fanfic if I did, nor would I be as poor as I am  
I wrote this a few years ago and posted it on ff.net but never got around to posting it here until now. I hope you enjoy.  
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The night's quiet is broken as the whimpering starts.  
Whimpers become sobs.  
Sobs become the full throated cries of a soul in anguish, hastily muffled but continuing on and on, unending as the soul's torment is unending. Pain, loss, grief and loneliness, howled out each night in private but hidden during the daylight hours. Never let them see you cry. Never let them know you suffer. Never give them any ammunition to use against you. It's the only way he knows how to live, to survive. It's a strategy that has served him well. He is alive; he is sane; he is proud of these achievements - it's the best he can ever hope for.

Morning light brings new resolution. Shower, change, brush teeth. Fixing a smile he steps out of his room. He feigns interest in the small goings on of the day, the comings and goings of others on errands and missions. He is forbidden the outside world and the beating pinions of his spirit smash helplessly against the wards that imprison him.  
He smiles, jokes, reminisces about friends long gone and, like a wild animal in a trap, gnaws at his own impotence.

The day passes and the dreadful night comes again.

The night's quiet is broken as the whimpering starts.  
Whimpers become sobs.  
Sobs become the full throated cries of a soul in anguish. Hastily muffled . . . . . . . . 

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She wakes with a start from the depths of sleep, instantly alert and aware of . . . something. She doesn't know what has woken her but knows that something is amiss. The silence of the house presses down on her as she strains her senses to the limit, seeking for the source of her unease.

A sound breaks the darkness; a muffled howl torn from a sore and rasping throat. Then, all is silent once more.

Slipping from her bed, she makes her way across the cluttered floor of her room, stepping over piles of books and papers with cat-like grace, taking up her wand from the chair where it was carelessly thrown some hours before.

Opening her door she makes her way stealthily down the hallway, relying on night vision and her knowledge of the house to guide her footsteps. All seems quiet and she hesitates, not convinced within herself that she ever really heard the cry in the dark.

She pauses, unsure of whether to proceed or return to her dreams. The silence and dark are thick and oppressive around her as she scans the empty hall. Again, the choked cry sounds, calling her onwards until she comes to a halt facing a shut and forbidding door.

She has never entered this room. To her knowledge no-one has except its owner. Summoning her courage, she pushes gently on the door which swings open with a whisper, just wide enough to let her slip through the doorway.

The room is dark, she can only make out vague shapes in the sepia toned moonlight edging in around the curtained window.

"Lumos Minimus" she whispers

A faint light begins to glow from the end of her wand as she peers around, hunting for the source of the cries she has heard.

Blankets and pillows are strewn about the room as if by a maelstrom. The bed is empty, the body that should be sleeping peacefully is absent.  
Stepping forward she makes out a bundle of blankets on the floor at the foot of the bed.  
He is there, huddled within the blankets which wrap him like a shroud, his face is turned to the wall and, even from this distance, she can tell that he is shaking.  
Moving closer, her gaze fixed on him, she stumbles over some of the abandoned bedclothes, alerting him to the presence of another..

He freezes. If he doesn't move, doesn't attract attention, maybe the horror will pass him by. Maybe this time he will be left alone. Maybe this time there will be no pain.  
A terrified whimper breaks through his tightly clenched bubbling up from deep inside him where still lives the frightened little boy (“Please Daddy, don't hit. . .I'll be good, I promise.”)

She stretches out one hand to touch him, to reassure him of her benign intent

"Sirius? It's me, Hermione."

She reaches around to cup his chin with her hand, gently turning his head towards her. His face is drawn and white, eyes screwed shut, and his teeth are ground so tightly together that she wonders they don't break. Another childlike whimper leaves his mouth and his body shakes with his fear.

"Sirius. Look at me. It's Hermione."

Something in her soft voice breaks through the veil of horror that surrounds him. He forces his eyes open and she gasps when his eyes meet hers, His eyes are wide, silver-grey, red-rimmed – and empty. No trace remains of the spirit of the man she knows. Only his fear remains, visible like a living creature within his eyes.

A strand of sweat-damp, ink black hair falls into his face and she raises her hand to brush it aside. As her fingers touch his skin he flinches, desperately trying to press himself deeper into the wall, as if by will alone he can force his flesh through the bricks and mortar and escape.

Moved by his abject dread, she begins to whisper nonsense words to him, soothing him as she might soothe any injured, frightened creature.

"Ssssh Sirius. Shhhh. I'm here now. I won't let anything hurt you. Don't be scared. I'm here. . . "

She carries on crooning to him as she gently strokes his hair and the skin of his face, gentling him and driving away the memories that have consumed him so completely.  
His trembling gradually subsides and she can see a dawning awareness in his eyes. He begins to focus on his true surroundings, retreating from the horrors his mind inflicts on him.  
Later she can recall the exact moment that he recognises her. His eyes widen even further and he recoils from her touch, pushing her away, not wanting her to see his shame, his weakness. [Never let them see you cry. Never let them know you suffer. Never give them any ammunition to use against you.]

His body tenses as realisation of his situation swamps him 

[Run Sirius! get out of here with what little self respect you have left.]

To think is to act. He pushes her away violently and surges to his feet, standing, swaying, almost falling. He tries to move past her, his only aim to hide himself away, but as he takes his first step, his foot catches in the blankets which have fallen, unnoticed, at his feet. He crashes to his knees where, utterly defeated, he stays, head down, His eyes filling with tears at his own impotence.

Hopelessness crashes in on him. Failure. Always failure. His life is corrupted beyond all recognition. The remainder of his years stretch out before him, unchanging in his empty purgatory. He is trapped in his past with no hope of redemption or release. His tears begin to fall faster and he shakes his head to clear his vision before having to face the ridicule for his frailty which he is sure will come.

"Sirius?" Her voice is small, uncertain and trails away as her eyes find his once again. He sees nothing of the contempt that he believes he must inspire in her, only empathy, sincere and unwavering.

They gaze at each other unmoving. Her eyes, wide and brown, overflowing with innocence and sympathy. His eyes, grey and haggard, shining with tears.  
Looking at him, her heart breaks and she holds out her arms to him, drawing him in close holding his head to her heart, rocking him. For a long while he is stiff within her embrace, but eventually his shoulders drop, his arms rise to hold her and he buries his head deeper into her breast. His sobs shake his frame so violently that she thinks he will tear himself apart with weeping. She anchors him through the storm, stroking his hair and placing feather light kisses on his brow until he is lying, still and quiet, in her arms.

He turns his head to look up at her in wonder. At this moment she is the light in his darkness, a warm and safe haven in his wretched world. She smiles down at him and wipes the last of his tears from his cheeks, her fingertips lingering on his skin as she asks "Are you OK now?"

Unable to trust his voice, he nods and lifts his hand to touch her shining face. His hand curls around her neck and he draws her head down to his to place a chaste, worshipful kiss on her lips – a gesture of thanks and gratitude for his salvation from the nightmare.

As his lips touch hers she gasps, unconsciously parting her lips to allow him access to her mouth. Her eyes close as his lips move on hers. At first he is unsure, not knowing whether he has the right, expecting that at any moment she will reject him, humiliate him. She doesn't. To his incredulous joy she leans into him, sighing as he deepens his kiss.  
He tugs gently and she slips down to lie beside him, cushioned in the bundle of blankets beneath them. She rests in the circle of his arms, looking up at him solemnly as he brushes her hair back from her face with trembling fingers. He leans down again to capture her lips with his and, again, she accepts his kisses with a sigh.  
The tip of her tongue enters his mouth, delicately tasting him. Becoming more sure of herself she tangles her hands in his hair, pulling his head closer, her sighs becoming moans as she ravishes his mouth, urging him on to greater intimacy.

She is the aggressor here. It is she who takes his hand and places it on her breast, silently begging for his touch and he hesitantly complies. His breath catches as she runs her hands over his shoulders and down his back, dragging her fingernails back up his sides and making him squirm.  
He is delirious. It has been so many years since he has been this close to someone. So many years since he has let his guard down after his betrayal by one he trusted. And now, unbelievably, in the depths of his despair, fate has sent him an angel to calm his soul and enflame his senses. For an instant he freezes, unsure of himself and his place here with her.

Although his mind has forgotten, his body remembers and takes over.

He wrenches his mouth away from hers and runs a trail of kisses down her neck, nipping at her shoulder and across her chest, catching the sensitive spot on her collar bone that makes her writhe and moan. His hands rip at her thin T-shirt, tearing it away from her body and his eyes hit her skin with the cool air.  
She whines softly, missing the heat of his body against her as he kneels over her. She watches him through eyes made heavy with want as he devours her flesh with his gaze.

"Hermione."  
"Sirius."

Two words spoken. Acceptance asked and given.

She arches her back, raising her aching breasts towards him; begging now - a touch, a kiss, anything - and he complies, moving to straddle her hips as he bends down to take a taut nipple into his mouth. She cries out softly as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive peak and then moves to its twin to repeat his exquisite torture. He bites down, hard, and she squeals with the pain/pleasure "Don't Stop."

She reaches for him and runs her hands under his T shirt, up his flat stomach to his chest, following the play of his muscles as he sits up and, with one fluid movement, pulls his shirt off over his head.

She gazes up at him, her ravaged God. He is beautiful beyond anything she could have imagined. Battered and broken he may be but he is still glorious to her. His night black hair hangs long and whisper soft against his shoulders and his eyes. . . no longer empty or despairing but filled now with desire and hunger for her.

As she sees him, so he sees her. His liberator. His safe haven. His Goddess.

He pulls off her sleeping shorts and she lies naked before him, offering herself to him and he bows his head to worship her. Leaving a trail of kisses down her silken body he explores every inch of her until he reaches her core. Her hands tangle in his hair as he parts her legs, resting her thighs on his shoulders before taking his first taste of her.  
She tastes of champagne and light and something else, something indefinably Her. He nips gently at her wet flesh. Wrapping his tongue around the tiny bundle of nerves at her centre he laps rhythmically and steadily, rewarded for his efforts by the fresh surge of moisture and the sound of her mewling cries. Her hands leave his hair and fly out to land with noiseless grace to either side of her, fingers grasping at the carpet as ecstasy floods through her. Her body jerks and shudders as slowly drives her towards release. He feels the fluttering contractions begin and holds her hips still to allow him to ride her orgasm with her, his tongue never leaving her, until she collapses, spent, beneath him.  
Raising his head he sees her face in the pale light of her wand. Her eyes are closed and there is a faint sheen of sweat covering her body. Her lips curve in a satisfied smile as she opens her passion clouded eyes and looks down at him.

"Sirius. . ." She breathes. No other words are necessary.

Aftershocks are still running through her body as he slowly lowers her legs to the floor, placing delicate kisses along her calves and ankles as he does so.  
Still gazing at her supine form, he rises and begins to unfasten his trousers. She watches him hungrily as the button pops and the zip is lowered, swallowing sharply as he reveals himself to her. His engorged flesh springs free and she moans softly, longing to taste him as he has tasted her. He kicks himself free of his clothing and stands before her, aching for her touch.

Bending gracefully, he enfolds her in his arms and lifts her onto his bed.

No sooner has her body hit the mattress than she turns to face him, hands reaching out to grasp his hands, pulling him down to join her.  
She turns him so that he lies on his back, placing soft whispers of kisses across his chest and down his stomach whilst her hands brush over his shoulders and down his sides, tracing the outline of his hips and thighs before drawing back up to ghost across the velvet encased hardness of him. He gasps as her fingers explore his body, hips arching up in a silent plea for more contact. She draws back to look at him - arms outstretched to the side, head thrown back and eyes closed, his body is a sacrifice to her to do with as she desires.

Her head dips down towards him and her tongue slips out to glide slowly up the length of him. A soft cry escapes him as she takes him into her mouth, tongue swirling and teeth grazing his skin giving him some of the stimulation he is craving without allowing him release.

His body tenses and relaxes in time with her ministrations, spiraling higher and higher, reaching for the nirvana that she seems intent on denying him - drawing out the pleasure until it almost feels like pain. He is crucified on the altar of her will as she takes her pleasure from his flesh.

Unable to prolong her sweet torture any longer and desperately needing to find her own fulfillment, she moves astride his hips and begins to lower herself, excruciatingly slowly, onto his proud flesh. His eyes snap open as her hot, wet core surrounds him and holds him fast.

His mind spirals. He has traveled from the depths of hell to touch the gates of Paradise all within the space of a heartbeat. It is too much. Too fast. This cannot be meant for him. He turns his head to the side, eyes closing again, a barrier against the fall from her grace that he knows must be coming.

Sensing his emotional withdrawal from her and, hoping to recall him, she whispers his name "Sirius. Look at me."

She reaches down and turns his head to face her. Opening his eyes he sees her smile for him, a smile of such tenderness and longing that it becomes unbearable.  
With a hoarse cry he grasps her hips and surges up into her welcoming warmth. She undulates above him like the sea, driving him further, faster, deeper; rushing headlong into rapture and pulling him along with her.

Beyond help, beyond reason, he reaches for the light and feels its heat excoriate his being as he explodes within her like the flaming star for which he is named.  
She shudders, her walls pulsating around him and lets out a high, soft call of repletion before slipping down to lie nestled in his arms.

He places a kiss of boundless love and thankfulness against her breast before sinking into a dreamless sleep the like of which he has not known for eighteen years.

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In a nearby room a Werewolf sits on a chair by his window, long legs stretched comfortably before him, gazing out at the gibbous moon, smoking an idle cigarette.  
His head is cocked to one side and he smiles to himself as his preternatural hearing picks out the quiet sounds coming from along the corridor.

Stubbing out his cigarette, he makes his way to his bed, calling down a silent blessing on the little witch who has, at last, begun the healing of his Brother.


End file.
